Dr. James L. Cherney
Associate Professor and Director of the Communication Core in the Department of Communication Studies at the University of Nevada, Reno. His work examines ableism’s impact throughout society, particularly in the areas of sport, law, and media. He is the author of Ableist Rhetoric: How We Know, Value, and See Disability (2019, Pennsylvania State University Press).
Email: jcherney@unr.edu
On July 23rd, French paraplegic tennis player Kevin Piette “made history” when he wore a robotic exoskeleton while carrying the Olympic Torch through Yvelines, France. What made this moment “historical” was that the exoskeleton allowed Piette to “walk again,” as opposed to using other mobility-related devices that facilitate movement but not do not give the impression of walking. As one report of the event explained, “Wandercraft’s Atalante exoskeleton simulates natural movement . . . enabling the wearer to keep their hands free while remaining upright without the need for balancing aids.”
Piette should use whatever devices he chooses whether because of personal preference or appropriateness to his condition; this commentary only examines the media’s presentation and does not critique him in any way. From this perspective the moment bears some scrutiny because of the rhetorical messages it sends about disability, sport, and the ableist fantasy that disability can and should be overcome.
First, conspicuous presence of Piette’s exoskeleton as part of the Olympic — as opposed to the Paralympic — torch relay implies an ableist preference for giving the appearance of walking instead of using a wheelchair or other device. Whatever the logistical reasons for having Piette’s presence in the Olympic relay, it associates a walking disabled person with non-disabled competition while associating wheelchair using athletes exclusively with parasport, which sends the message that the semblance of walking changes the status of a disabled person. Technologies like the wheelchair can allow people to move even faster than they can walk, but they are segregated from spaces that Piette’s exoskeleton is allowed to travel.
Second, videos and coverage of the event contain various cues that indicate it functioned primarily to generate publicity and that the technology’s promise of independence remains unfulfilled. In the footage an aide walks closely behind Piette with hands at the ready to catch him should he fall or stumble, while another aide keeps pace alongside him a few feet away pushing an empty wheelchair should it be needed. Piette moves rather slowly, and his somewhat jerky motion seems less suggestive of “natural movement” than the mechanical steps of a robot. While the videos do show him taking several steps carrying the torch, the safety net of two assistants at the ready gives the impression that Piette remains insecure in an experimental device. Additionally, coverage of the exoskeleton reveals the limitations of the access it provides to the user. Disability studies scholars and activists often use inaccessible stairways as a pervasive example revealing the impact and structural persistence of ableism. “In a society of wheelchair users,” Tobin Siebers wrote in his 2008 book Disability Theory, “stairs would be nonexistent” (57), so their presence effectively conveys the message “For Walkies Only.” A technology that gives a disabled person the ability to walk implies that the barrier created by stairs can be erased, but this apparent promise of Piette’s exoskeleton proves deceptive. As IoT World Today reported, these “exoskeletons are solely designed for rehabilitation and not for sports or stair climbing.”
That the devices do not facilitate participation in sport raises questions for the statement published on the official Olympics website that Piette’s act of using an exoskeleton to carry the Olympic Torch “inspires people to get involved in sport.” Since other assistive devices, such as the wheelchair, do not receive the same accolades, this claim also suggests that parasport remains relegated to second class status because it does not similarly encourage sport participation. Consider the claim that this technology distinguishes itself from other assistive mobility devices by being “hands free.” This only makes sense if we view other devices as restricting the hands, but the active and powerful use of the hands propels such devices as manual wheelchairs. In the context of sport, extensive use of the hands in wheelchair tennis and wheelchair rugby should completely discredit the notion that these athletes’ hands lack freedom. The claim effectively reinforces the ableist conception of wheelchair users as “wheelchair bound,” which perpetuates the view that wheelchairs limit freedom of movement when the opposite is true for more than 65 million people worldwide who use them. Such misconceptions contribute to ableist oppression by suggesting that life with a disability is less productive and satisfying, or even that it is not worth living at all.
Wandercraft’s technological prowess and innovative device likely does (or will) provide meaningful access to some people, and I applaud its attempts to accomplish that. But the way it was presented in media coverage and situated by the Olympic torch relay recalls and reinscribes ableism. The idea that Piette’s display “is what the Olympic spirit is all about,” as Billie Jean King posted on her Facebook page, overlooks the ableist assumptions that framed this moment as history in the making.
